City of Starlight
by sopranope
Summary: AH/AU/(slightly)OOC: She is a struggling scriptwriter working in a coffee shop. He is a jazz pianist trying to protect the genre he loves from dying. Fate keeps trying to push them together. Will the two survive in this city of stars? Based HEAVILY off "La La Land." Double posted on AO3.
1. Bella - Winter (December 19th, 2010)

**A/N: Hi! I recently watched the movie La La Land (and loved it), and I couldn't help but think how well suited the story was for Bella and Edward! Obviously I'm going to be changing many, many things from the movie (especially the ending because that was a heartbreaking ending, and I'm pretending that it never happened). But I hope you enjoy it! Also: spoilers if you haven't seen La La Land. I'll try to make it to a minimum though. :)**

 **DISCLAIMER: Do not own Twilight or La La Land**

* * *

 **Bella – Winter: Sunday, January 17th, 2010**

It was another bright, hot, sunny day when Isabella Swan sat in her old 1963 Chevy pickup truck, listening to the sounds of angry car horns blaring at each other as the traffic was at a standstill. Tapping her fingers lightly on the wheel of her car, she managed to drown out the cacophonic sounds with her own thoughts. In her head, she dreamed up stories, scenarios, and characters to distract her from the mere plainness of reality. She needed to escape for a little while before she was forced to serve snooty actresses and big shot producers their gluten free Danishes and non-fat, soy lattes at the coffeehouse in the Warner Brothers lot.

Bella, as she preferred to be called, had moved out to the glamorous city of Los Angeles straight out of college; with a big dream to write scripts and see her creations erupt to life on screen. Just the mere thought of seeing her words transformed into movies, television shows, and plays, helped her get through the four years of scriptwriting at the local university in her hometown of Forks, Washington. As soon as those four years were up, she packed her things and moved out, driving her trusty truck all the way to L.A.

Her love for scriptwriting, or 'obsession' as her mom called it, began when she was six years old, and her father, Charlie, had shown her some old films to occupy her. She watched _Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, Funny Face_ , etc. Her father was a nut for old films, particularly those from the fifties, and she was, in turn, influenced by him and these movies. However, Bella never wanted to be an actress, oh no. Ever since starring in the Nativity play as Mary when she was seven-years-old, she knew she was not comfortable on stage. Bella wanted to be the one to create these amazing, intricate stories for others to enjoy, and she wanted those stories to be immortalized on film. In her childhood, she would write plays and scenarios for her friends to act out, and she happily watched them. Her mother, Renée, never encouraged her, but Charlie was all for it.

"I want you to be happy, Bells," he said to her at her graduation. "And if being a screenwriter, living in L.A., makes you happy then…go for it." His words gave her courage, and so she left to chase her dream.

But that dream was forced to be on hold, for no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get anyone to pick up her scripts. After using two-thirds of her savings, or what was left of it after going to college, she managed to find an incredibly small apartment in one of the rougher parts of L.A. Her head firmly stuck in the clouds, Bella would go to a café on the Warner Brothers lot, and write; staring out the window to see actors and actresses film out someone else's words and plots. After a few weeks of, essentially, living at the café and only going to her apartment to sleep, she realized that she needed to get a job and fast. Paying for food, rent, and gas was depleting her meager savings. Thankfully, the café she frequented always needed more employees, since many quit because they finally got the chance to do what they wanted. Once she was hired, she met Rosalie, a struggling actress who was trying to make ends meet. They became fast friends, and Rosalie, who was about to get kicked out of her own apartment, decided to move in with Bella. Now that she had a roommate and a steady job, Bella felt more stable in her new life in the big city of stars.

One year passed, then two, then three, four, five, six. And every year, Bella's passion for writing burned strong. But no matter how much she tried to ignore it, rejection was taking its toll on her. She began to question whether or not she was talented enough. Not only were none of her scripts being picked up, but the time she had to write and polish said scripts were lessening as she picked up more shifts to pay the bills.

But as Bella looked out of her car, her brown eyes staring past the gigantic cars and their angry drivers, she caught a faint glimpse of the Hollywood sign. Seeing the sign, she was reminded once again of why she was there. Why she decided to chase a seemingly impossible dream.

"It's hard to shine brightly in this city of stars," Bella mumbled to herself absentmindedly. Once her words registered to herself, she quickly grabbed her phone from the seat beside her, where it was charging. She began to type in the words in her phone note, titled "Possible quotes for script." A loud horn blared behind her, and she dropped her phone on the floor of her car in surprise. She stared at the car from her dashboard mirror. The driver of the silver Volvo behind her gave her the universal "what-the-heck-are-you-doing?" motion. He jerked the wheel of his car and switched lanes, moving his car right next to hers.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he yelled at her through the open window of his car. She barely gave him a glance as she stuck up her middle finger at him. She heard him huff as his tires screech away down the highway. Other cars began to honk at her as she bent down from her seat to pick up her fallen phone. Once she grasped her phone, it began to buzz. Bella snuck a look at the caller ID; it was Rosalie. Sighing, she answered it and placed it on speaker phone as she drove her car forward.

"Hello?" she said with a hint of exasperation.

"Where are you?" Rosalie hurriedly asked.

"Sorry," Bella sighed. "I know I'm running a bit late. I forgot to set my alarm last night and I was up late writing. That and the traffic is terrible, as usual. Can you tell Jessica that I'm sorry, and I'll work an extra shift whenever she wants me to?" She pressed her foot on the gas pedal, pushing her old Chevy truck to go faster than it was actually capable of.

"Fine," Rosalie replied. "But I'm just warning you, Jessica is not impressed. You better get here soon, I need you to replace me. I have an audition at four." Bella checked the time. It was two-fifty.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," she told her.

"Okay, see you."

"Bye."

Rosalie hung up and Bella tossed her phone on the passenger seat. Placing both hands on the wheel, she pressed the pedal further, speeding her way down the highway.

* * *

Bella stared at the clock from her till. It was only five, but nevertheless, she was more than ready to go home. Her foot started to tap on the pristine checkered floor of the coffee house. The chatter of those around her blending into one melodious hum, as her brain thought of a million ideas to be written down later. She had recently started a new script, considering she had finished her other one a few months ago and had sent them out to multiple companies. She was trying her hand at writing a romantic comedy but didn't know how to start it. To prepare, she had started watching old romance movies that she vaguely remembered watching when she was a child. She knew she needed to get as much inspiration as she could.

"Excuse me," a nasal voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked at the person in front of her, her eyes taking a moment to focus. But then she froze. It was the famous screenwriter, Tanya Buring. She had won three Oscars for her films _Courage, Finding Mr. Jones_ , and _Sing, Laugh, Cry_. She was an idol to aspiring screenwriters since she had written her first script, _Courage_ , when she was fresh out of university, and it was picked up immediately by a major studio. The movie had been an instant hit, with its leads becoming stars overnight, and it also won all the major awards.

"I would like a non-fat vanilla soy latte with two espressos and a hint of cinnamon," Tanya said, breaking Bella out of her awed silence. Bella blinked twice and shook herself out of her stupor. But before she could say a word, her co-worker, Sam, slid the drink to her and said, "Free of charge." Smiling, Tanya took the cup and dropped a one dollar bill into the tip jar. She walked away and Bella was left staring at her retreating figure with admiration. How she wished she could be like Tanya: successful. Suddenly her emotions took a dive as reality checked back in with her. She was not a successful screenwriter like Tanya, she was just a barista in the coffee shop on the Warner Brothers lot – failing to achieve her aspirations.

With a sigh, Bella absently grabbed a rag and began to wipe the counter. She felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. The notification stated that she had a meeting with an executive to pitch her latest script at five forty-five. She gasped and dropped the rag. She had forgotten about the meeting! Ripping off her apron, Bella grabbed her bag from under the counter and rushed to head out. Before she could even walk out from behind the counter, a hand reached out to stall her, grasping her wrist. She was forced to turn around and face Jessica, her hell-demon of a manager.

"Where on Earth do you think you're going?" she demanded. Bella stared at her pleadingly.

"I just remembered that I have a meeting with an exec about my new script at five forty-five," she said. "I'm so sorry. I know that I was also late, but I'll make it up to you, I promise. You can work me like a dog after this is over." Jessica stared at Bella with narrowed, blue eyes, trying to figure out what she should do next.

Finally, with a sigh, she said, "Fine. You can go. But you're opening the shop at five-thirty in the morning tomorrow. And you have to take over Rosalie's closing shift on Friday."

Desperate to leave, Bella agreed to everything and turned around to run out the door…when she bumped into a firm, human chest. The front of her shirt was soaked and cold with the coffee that was accidentally dumped on her by the person she bumped into. Horrified, she looked up. Holding an empty plastic cup was the rude man in the Volvo from the highway! He stared at her soaked figure in an uncaring manner.

Bella angrily stared at him. Everything about him annoyed her. His messy bronze hair, his sunglasses (really, who wears sunglasses indoors?), and his nice-looking brown suit. Momentarily, she debated whether or not she should give him a biting remark, but with a glimpse at the clock, she realized that she was going to be late if she didn't leave at that exact moment. Giving a little frustrated growl, she pushed past him and ran out of the door.

* * *

At midnight, Bella walked into her small apartment dejectedly. She took off the blue jacket she had worn to cover her coffee stained shirt and threw it absentmindedly onto the coat rack by the door.

"Hey Bells!" she heard Rosalie call from the kitchen. "How did the meeting go?" Ignoring her, she walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door. Sitting on the toilet seat, her head hung into her hands. Breathing deeply, she thought back to the disastrous meeting. It seemed to be going well but then the executive stopped her midway into her explanation of the script and dismissed her. He said that script was, "too cliché," and "way overdone." He then "kindly" recommended that she should go back to school and learn how to write, in his words, "proper scripts."

Suffice to say, she cried in her car for a good, solid ten minutes afterward.

"Bella!" Rosalie said, knocking insistently on the door from the other side. "Tell me how it went!" Bella sighed as she heaved herself off the toilet. She began to strip down. All she wanted in that moment was to take a long shower.

"It was bad, okay?" she huffed. "He told me that my writing was 'mediocre' and that I should go back to school to learn 'proper scriptwriting.'" She heard Rosalie groan faintly.

"Ugh, I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Yeah, well. It's not the first time," Bella said bitterly. "I'm gonna take a shower now, Rose!" Once she heard her friend's soft footsteps fade away, she hopped into the shower and turned on the water full-blast.

She took one deep breath, then two…and then promptly burst into tears.

* * *

A blue dress was thrust at her once she left the bathroom in her pajamas and with her slightly damp brown hair rolled into a messy bun.

"What is this?" Bella questioned, raising one eyebrow. Rosalie stood before her, arms crossed. She was already all dressed up. She wore a tight fitting lime green coloured dress that only Rosalie could pull off with her curves and angular face. Her blonde hair was curled into tight waves and reached her mid-back. She was decked out in all sorts of sparkling accessories: earrings, bracelets, rings, etc. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You're coming to this party with me," she answered.

"I think you mean to say that you're dragging me to go networking," Bella groaned. Rosalie only gave a sly smile. Nowadays, Rosalie only went to parties to network; to make connections and whatnot.

"Ugh, Rose, you know I hate networking. I mean, as a scriptwriter, I don't really need to pitch myself to others. Just my stories. And I can do that through an email or a phone call. You on the other hand…."

"Oh come on, Bella," Rosalie cut her off. "I just think that you should go out and have some fun. Forget networking, then. Forget that asshole who wrote you off. Just go out, have a few drinks, dance a little, and then go home and cry all you want."

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes. "Rose, you know how I hate all of those things you just listed."

"I'm just letting you know that Aro Sheridan is going to be there," Rosalie interrupted again.

That caught her attention.

"Aro Sheridan? That new director who won, like, five awards last year?" Bella asked incredulously.

"Yeah, and I heard that he was looking for a new script…" Rosalie coyly spoke. "I mean…I'm just saying. You don't have to go unless you want to." Bella bit her lip, seriously contemplating and weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, she would be given a chance to pitch her script to one of the most successful new directors. But on the other hand, she hated going to parties. Especially those hosted by Rosalie's friends. They were all networking parties. Desperate actors, models, musicians, scriptwriters, etc., would all go to try to make connections to get an in with the might executives in the business.

"You're going to have to make up your mind soon though because Emmett's coming to pick me up in thirty minutes," she said. Emmett was Rosalie's boyfriend, who she had met when she did a modeling gig. The first time Bella had met Emmett, she had been absolutely awed by his looks. He had a boyish smile with a cute dimple on the left side of his face and was extremely muscular. His shiny black eyes and curly black hair, along with the dimple, gave him a young and innocent look, but that was far from the truth. Emmett, while being the most trustworthy person Bella knew, was also the crudest person she knew. His jokes were always varying degrees of inappropriate.

"I'm going to go get ready," Bella said, keeping a tight grip on the dress. She walked into her room and slammed the door. Quickly, she changed into the slinky, knee-length, deep cut blue dress. It had been a gift from Rosalie for her first birthday in Los Angeles.

"You need something to wear when you're out mingling with the powerful executives," she had said. "And your closet only comprises of work clothes and very ratty, out of style, outfits."

Bella had only worn the dress once to meet a studio exec for dinner and had felt beautiful in it. It was honestly the first time she had ever felt beautiful. Unfortunately, that feeling was ruined when her first ever script had been rejected for no reason at all. The exec had handed her script back in the middle of dinner, said, "No," and walked out. She couldn't eat anything else that entire night and had left not long after. The only plus of that night was that the exec had paid for the meal, otherwise Bella would have had to work extra shifts – which was even more depressing.

After applying a nude-pink lipstick and slipping on some black heels (she knew she'd regret this decision later), Bella walked out of her room to find Rosalie. Rosalie and her long-time model boyfriend, Emmett, were playing "tonsil tennis" in the middle of the room.

"Seriously?" she said disgusted, wrinkling her nose. Her sudden appearance surprised them into breaking apart. "Get a room."

Emmett gave a loud, booming laugh and detached from his blonde girlfriend's arms, reaching out to hug her.

"We would get one, Belly, but we have this huge party to get to. Plus, you'd only be complaining about the noise if we did," he retorted. Bella pulled away from the hug and crossed her arms across her chest, staring him down.

"I did not need to hear that," she groaned. Emmett gave another laugh and ushered the two ladies out of the door.

"Let's go, we're going to be late."

* * *

The party was not worth going to, in the end. Aro hadn't bothered to show up, so Bella was left at the party, by herself, because Emmett and Rosalie were off mingling. Bella awkwardly sat on a couch between two glamorous girls who were studiously ignoring her. She vaguely recognized both of them. They were probably extras on some TV show she had watched at one point in the past year. Awkwardly, Bella took a sip of the champagne in her glass and looked around her. People were dancing, making out, talking, swimming, drinking…all of the things Bella generally did not enjoy as much. Her entire being was screaming at herself to get out of there. Immediately.

The pulsing, loud, party music was also beginning to give her a headache. The lyrics were nonsensical and the beat was way too fast for her to even comprehend. She couldn't take it any longer. She needed to get out of the place.

Standing up, Bella began to search for Emmett and Rosalie, but they were nowhere to be found. Pushing past many gyrating bodies, she went to every floor of the place; searching through every crack and crevice for her roommate. Eventually she grew tired of looking and tapped someone on the shoulder.

Yelling over the music, she asked, "Do you know where Emmett and Rosalie went?!"

The person, a young, handsome male with dark hair and blue eyes, yelled back, "Who?!"

"Emmett and Rosalie? A tall, very pretty blonde, and an equally tall, handsome man with jet black hair and huge muscles?!"

"Nah, man! I think they left a while ago!"

Of course they did. They generally got…lost in each other once they were drunk. Too bad they were her ride.

Bella nearly ran out of the house and walked down the street, unsteadily, in her black high heels. Taking a deep breath, she thought to herself: "Finally, some fresh air." To be completely honest, she had no idea where she was, but she knew she had to make her way into the heart of the city; maybe even reach a bus stop. She didn't mind the fact that she needed to walk for long, it was an excuse to get lost in her thoughts and think of ideas.

She walked for a long time in the dark, passing by numerous houses. The streets were dimly lit with the yellow light from the streetlights. Slowly, the houses morphed into tall skyscrapers and apartment buildings and then into bars and restaurants. There was almost no one around. It made sense, however, considering it was past one in the morning, and she was in the more sophisticated area of town.

Walking through a nearly empty street, Bella began to reminisce about her life in the small town of Forks, Washington. It would be quiet and empty every night. The stars would be bright outside, and she would go stargazing with her dad once a month. He would teach her about the constellations and create stories about each individual star in the sky.

"That star is the soul of a woman who lived in the twenties," he once told her, pointing at a bright star. "She wanted to be a silent film star, but everyone rejected her because she just wasn't pretty enough. Eventually, she was forced to give up her dream and marry a man and have three children. However, her passion was never fulfilled for she lived as a simple housewife for the rest of her life. When she died, her passion was still strong, and her last words were that she regretted never following her dreams and trying harder to achieve them. I want you to achieve your dream, Bells. Whatever that may be. Don't regret it like that woman did."

All of her father's stories ran through the same vein and had some form of moral in them. Thinking back, Bella realized that her knack for storytelling mostly likely came from her father. She wasn't raised on storybooks like other children. Her father would come and tuck her in, and then tell her a story he made up on the spot.

Her nostalgic musing was put aside for a second when she heard the most beautiful music she had ever heard. She stopped in front of the entrance of a rather fancy looking restaurant and listened. The melody was intricate. It started off slow and heavy, its tone speaking of romance and possibilities. Hope. She was drawn in. Bella opened the door and walked into the restaurant. She found that people were ignoring the beautiful music that was playing, preferring to chat with the person they were with instead. But Bella listened.

A story erupted from the music she heard. There were two people, one appeared to be slightly inferior than the other, acting more as a support. But then the story evolved, the relationship evolved. They became equals and supported each other. The music swelled to a crescendo, and the tempo increased. Long and intricate scales were being played, and then…the story became slightly muffled. It disappeared. Bella became confused. What happened to the story? To the two characters?

Itching to ask the composer what happened, she looked to see who the player was, but then froze when she saw who it was. It was that guy! The guy from the highway who later spilled coffee on her! He was standing before the piano, breathing heavily. His long, curved fingers were pressing down on the keys, sustaining the note. His bronze hair looked slightly disheveled. She couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked in a dark navy suit, a matching tie, and a white suit. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. It was like the whole room darkened around her, the surroundings indiscernible, and a spotlight shone on him – only him. The look on his face was indiscernible, but Bella realized that this song was composed by him, on the spot – improvised. And it was completely personal.

Before she could go up to talk to him, a stern looking man quietly spoke him and dragged him aside. She watched curiously as the two had a serious conversation, before the (handsome) piano man, as Bella had dubbed him in her mind, stormed away from the stern man, grabbing his bag from the piano. Before she lost her nerve, Bella walked towards him.

"Hey, I heard you play and I just wanted to say that-" she started to say.

But he pushed past her, ignoring everything she just said.

Multiple emotions rushed through her in that instance. Anger, embarrassment, astonishment, but most of all…she was hurt. She frowned. Why was she so affected by this man?

Guess she'll never know.

* * *

 **NEXT: Edward's side of events.**

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	2. Edward - Winter (December 19th, 2010)

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Twilight_ or _La La Land._**

* * *

 **Edward – Winter: Sunday, December 19th, 2010**

It was yet another bright, sunny day in Los Angeles. Edward Cullen heaved a sigh as he turned up the volume of his car radio. He would much rather listen to the works of Miles Davis than the disjointed melody of horns and radios surrounding him. Tapping his finger along to the beat of the song, Edward stared at the car ahead of him – a rough looking Chevy truck. Frustrated, he shifted his jaw side to side; a horrible habit he had ever since he was a child – it drove his mother crazy.

In fact, she had commented on it today when he was over at his parents' house for brunch earlier. She had brought up the fact that he was still single, and that she wanted to "see him happily married" before she was sixty. He couldn't help but shift his jaw in annoyance, and she had changed the subject to his "disgusting habit." He still wasn't sure if he was thankful for that.

Edward snuck a brief glance at his watch on his left wrist. It was two-thirty-five, and he needed to get home by at least four. He was on his way to meet his sister's fiancé, Jasper, at some café down at the Warner Bros Lot. Jasper was a producer for some new movie they were making down there, and wanted to talk to him about possibly composing a song or two for said movie. Edward knew that it was highly unlikely that the studio would choose him to compose something, but he couldn't help but hope. He needed some kind of paying gig soon – or he would never be able to buy the jazz club he had dreamed of owning since he was a child.

Ever since he was born, Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme, played a lot of classical and jazz music around the house. Young Edward had mildly enjoyed the classical works but was always more intrigued with the jazz music. His mother played piano as a hobby and had taken it upon herself to teach him in her spare time. It was quickly discovered that Edward was extremely talented at playing the piano. ("My little prodigy," Esme would often say.) He took up classes at the local conservatory and quickly reached higher levels. However, he was notorious among teacher for his love of jazz. He often demanded to learn more jazz pieces than classical ones. No one could stop him, and he ended up played jazz piano music for most of his life. As soon as he graduated from high school, Edward went to the University of California and took a course in Jazz Studies. Not long after, he had co-founded a jazz band with one of his classmates, Garrett. However, due to disagreements in direction and leadership, Edward ended up leaving the band he helped put together.

Once he graduated from UCLA, he focused on getting paid gigs to save up for his jazz club. One of his favourite jazz clubs in L.A., The Van Beek, had been put out for sale, and he knew that the place would be the location of his jazz club. It seemed like a far-fetched dream, but he was determined to make it come true. Nothing would stand in the way of him and his club.

Traffic started moving and cars zoomed past him. Edward stared at the speeding cars in disbelief and then turned his gaze on the Chevy in front of him. Squinting, he vaguely saw the driver of the car play on his or her phone. His mood soured.

 _'I live in a city full of morons,'_ he thought to himself annoyed. He pressed the palm of his hand into the middle of his steering wheel, honking his horn loudly. With satisfaction, he watched as the driver dropped their phone in surprise. Brown eyes met his green ones in the dashboard mirror, and Edward flapped his hands in the universal "what-the-heck-are-you-doing?" motion but received no reply. Immediately, he swerved into the next lane, when he saw that there were no cars driving up, and briefly pulled alongside the Chevy. He rolled down his window.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" he yelled at the woman, for the driver was a woman, harshly. The woman had long, dark brown hair, wore a white button down, and had a simple ring around her middle finger – which she was unashamedly pointing at him. Edward gave a huff of chagrin and pushed on the gas pedal, zooming away from the, frankly, rude woman. His mood worsened.

"You meet all sorts here," he grumbled to himself. His irritable mumblings were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Reaching into his cup holder, he pulled out the Bluetooth ear piece that his father had given him for Christmas one year and haphazardly clipped it to his right ear, pressing the button to accept the call.

"What?" he answered, still irked by his recent confrontation with the Chevy driver.

"Hey, Edward, it's me," a southern accent filled his ear. It was Jasper.

"Hey," he replied, slightly distracted as he weaved in and out of traffic. "Why did you call?"

"I just wanted to let you know that we have to postpone the meeting for a slightly later time," Jasper told him apologetically. "Sorry, Edward, but the shoot's just not going as planned today. Can you come down at like four-forty-five? We should be finished by then."

Biting his lip, Edward thought about his schedule. He knew that he had to get ready for his new gig at one of the fancier restaurants in town. He had worked at _Patina_ before but had been fired because the manager, Caius, did not like jazz music. But they had called him to fill in for their usual pianist, who had gotten sick with the flu. Caius made it clear, however: no jazz music allowed. Not even jazzed up Christmas music. But the Warner Bros studio and the restaurant were both in Burbank, so he would be able to get from one to another in little-to-no time.

"Yeah, that's fine," Edward said, turning onto an exit ramp that would take him in the direction of his crappy apartment. "I need the time to practice before my gig tonight. What time will the meeting end, do you think? My gig's at six-thirty, and I think it's a thirty-minute drive away from where the Warner Brothers lot is."

"It won't take long. Probably finish at around five-twenty at the latest."

"Okay. See you then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Jasper hung up, and Edward took off the Bluetooth and threw it back into the cup holder. Pressing down on the gas pedal, he pushed his car to higher speeds. He could not wait to get home.

* * *

Carrying a pan of meatloaf his mother had sent home with him, Edward climbed the stairs down to his shoebox of an apartment. Balancing the meatloaf in one hand, he opened the door with some difficulty. The musty white door had always been a pain in the ass to open, but he never bothered to get it fixed.

Sighing for the six-hundredth time that day, he walked into his apartment and then kicked the door shut behind him. A young woman, with spiky black hair, was reading the newspaper at his kitchen table. It was his younger sister, Alice, who looked fashionable, as always, in her pink blouse, light blue jeans, and black heels. This was a common occurrence. Alice would often pop in without any notice and scare the living hell out of him. It annoyed him to no end.

He was about to open his mouth to say something, but then he noticed someone that made his blood pressure shoot up. Alice was sitting on his Hoagy Carmichael stool! He basically threw his mother's meatloaf onto the kitchen counter, took off his brown suit jacket, and stormed straight towards Alice.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "And why are you sitting on that? I told you not to sit on that!"

Alice wasn't even surprised or perturbed by her brother's sudden anger and appearance. She daintily lifted her bottom off the chair and moved to sit in one of the actual chairs at the table. Edward snatched the stool as soon as Alice lifted her bum off it; examining it to see if there was any damage inflicted upon it. Once he determined that it was fine, he placed it on top of the kitchen table, placing his suit jacket next to it.

"God, what is it with you and that stool?" she questioned with a hint of exasperation, staring at her brother like he was a lunatic.

"I've told you, it's one-of-a-kind. It belonged to the greatest American composer, Hoagy Carmichael! And you've put your jeans on it!" he snapped. Man, he was not having a good day.

Alice just shrugged. "It's a chair. Chairs are meant to sit on." He just rolled his eyes at her comment. No matter how many times he explained it, she never understood.

"Anyways, I came to give you this rug," she told him. Reaching beneath her feet, she pulled out a blue, furry rug. It was nice-looking, but it also obviously came from Ikea.

Edward gave it a quick once over and then turned away from her, heading for his living room. Or the other part of the room that he called his living room. There wasn't much to his tiny apartment. The kitchen and the living room was just one room. The living room was filled with unopened boxes, cluttered with sheet music, and the beige paint was peeling off the walls. Alice was always bothering him to get the room fixed up. ("Please, Edward, it burns my retinas to see the monstrosity you call your apartment," she had begged.) The only neat area was the back wall of the living room. He had lovingly set his piano against that wall, his vinyl record player set on top of it. His large bookshelf, which was full of vinyls, stood right next to it. The door to his bedroom was situated beside his bookshelf. It was easy for him to just put a record on and jam out along with the track with the piano situated in that area.

"I don't want it."

Alice gave a sound of annoyance at her brother's complete dismissal as she stood up and followed him into the living room; still holding up the plain blue rug. The clacking sound of her heels filled the room.

"Would you want it if I told you Louis Armstrong spat on it?" she sarcastically wondered. Edward whirled around to face her, a look of aggravation on his face.

"No," he said. But he gave a little pause as he considered her words once more. "But did he?" Rolling her blue eyes in a similar manner as her brother, she bent to set the rug down on the floor.

"There. Here you go," she said, standing back up. "An early Christmas present from Jazz and I. It may not go with any of your mediocre décor but you need a splash of colour in this place." Looking around, she stared at the bare, beige walls with distaste. Alice made a slight strangling noise which made Edward vaguely worried.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

"When are you going to clean this place up?" she queried testily. Rolling his green eyes, he turned away from her, all previous concern melting away. Rustling through a pile of half-opened boxes, he tried to find his old book of Christmas songs he had shoved away.

"I've told you a million times, Alice," he mumbled tiredly, pulling the ratty book out of the third box he looked through. "I'm going to unpack everything once I get my club." Behind him, Alice crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? And when is that going to be?"

Facing back towards her, sheet music in hand, he gaped for a little while, searching for an answer. "Soon," he managed to choke out. Alice hummed.

"And how soon is 'soon?'" she taunted. Edward was thoroughly done with the conversation. This was the tenth time Alice had brought the subject up that month alone.

"Soon," is all he replied, his patience coming at an end. He mimicked her stance by crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his left eyebrow.

Giving up, Alice dropped her arms and patted Edward's left right arm. "I just want you to be happy."

Her words melted his irritation away, and he, too, dropped his stance. "I know."

The siblings exchanged small smiles and all the tension in the room evaporated.

"Anyways," Alice said conversationally, eager to switch the subject to a lighter one. "How was Mom? I haven't seen her since Thanksgiving."

"She's doing well," he told her, grabbing a leather briefcase from the floor and stuffing the Christmas music book into it. "A little lonely now that Dad's left for that medical conference in Geneva he was telling us about. She said that he should be back before Christmas, though." Placing the He headed back to the kitchen, wanting a drink of water. Alice followed him like an eager puppy.

"Speaking of Christmas, are you going to be there?" she inquired. "Jazz and I are."

"I don't know," he admitted, grabbing a glass from a cupboard. "It depends on if Caius's pianist miraculously recovers from his pneumonia." He turned on the tap and ran the glass under the stream of cold water, filling it to the brim.

"Caius?" she asked. "Who he?"

Edward took a sip from his cup, swallowed, and replied, "Manager of that fancy restaurant, Patina. Remember I used to work for him until he fired me?"

"Oh, that guy who hates jazz music? Why on earth are you working for that asshole again?" she asked unhappily.

"I need the cash, Al."

Silence filled the room after Edward's honest answer. Money was always a touchy subject. Alice was admittedly more successful than Edward, as was Jasper. While Jasper had his big-shot producer job, Alice was a highly successful wedding planner. She created her own wedding planning company ( _Pixie Planners_ ) and quickly became one of the most successful, in demand planner in Los Angeles. Sometimes it was hard for him to meet his family's sympathetic gazes whenever he brought up his monetary situation. On more than one occasion, his family members would offer to give him money to help him, but he always felt uncomfortable to accept that money. Call it pride, if you will. The awkward silence was broken by the buzzing of Alice's cell phone. She immediately pulled it out to check it and gave a grumble.

"Oh, I have to go," she told him. "I have to meet a client. Apparently, she changed her mind about the theme of her wedding. Again." Edward chuckled good-humouredly. She turned to head out the door but then whipped around to face him again.

"Before I go," she stated, "here." She pulled out a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. "Call her." Edward opened the piece of paper and immediately groaned. A phone number was scribbled on the slightly crumpled piece of paper.

"No," Edward stated. "I told you this a million times, Alice. I will not let you set me up with one of your snooty fashion friends." He attempted to hand the paper back, but she pushed his hand away.

"But she's not one of my 'snooty fashion friends,' Ed," she protested. ("Don't call me Ed," he muttered.) "She's such a great person! She's down to earth, creative. She has a steady job-"

"Goodbye, Alice," he cut her off loudly, yanking open his disgusting door. He gave her a slight push out of the open door and she begrudgingly stepped out. But before he could shut the door, Alice stuck her foot out, stopping him from doing so.

"Please, Edward. At least consider it." With that, she left. He watched his sister leave and then softly shut the door, leaning against it. He stared at the piece of paper in his hand. There was no name on it – nothing except the ten-digit phone number. Briefly, very briefly, he considered calling the number. There was no denying the fact that he was lonely. It had been years since his last girlfriend, Tanya, broke up with him once they graduated university. She claimed that he was "financially unstable," and that she needed someone who "brought in the dough." Tanya was now a successful scriptwriter who was reportedly dating some famous director, so she was now well-off. _Lucky._

But he had no time for any romantic entanglements. There was no time to waste on dates. He had to get all the money he could to start up his jazz club – the only thing that mattered. Plus, dates were expensive, and he simply could not sacrifice any cash to pay for anything. He knew that it was a selfish way to think of things, but he wasn't that worried about dating. Besides, he was still young (twenty-nine), there was plenty of time to date. It just wasn't the right time.

Shaking off all thoughts of romance, Edward walked back to the living room and set the piece of paper on the piano that was placed against the back wall. Pulling out the bench, he sat and placed his fingers on the keys. His brain kept telling him that he should be practicing the Christmas music Caius wanted him to play, but instead, he started to play a melody from one of his favourite jazz songs: "Japanese Folk Song" by Thelonious Monk. He practiced one section over and over again, playing the chords and melody repeatedly to get them right – to achieve the right tone. He then paused to reach up to his record player and placed the needle onto the vinyl; the track began to play. Playing along with the recording, he began to play perfectly in time with the pianist on the recording. For an hour, he sat there, practicing. He was in heaven.

* * *

Screeching into the parking lot, Edward squinted through his sunglasses and saw Jasper wave at him from across the parking lot. His friend, and soon-to-be brother-in-law, stood there in a black suit, Ray-Bans on his face, an expensive-looking black leather bag hung from his shoulder (most likely a present from Alice), and his normally unruly, wavy blonde hair was slicked back.

Edward parked his Volvo in the first empty spot he could find and glanced at the time before turning off the engine. It was five; he was fifteen minutes late because he had been so lost in heaven he hadn't realized how much time had actually passed. When he saw how much time had passed, Edward had jumped from the piano, grabbed his leather briefcase and his brown suit jacket, and flew out of the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I lost track of time," Edward apologized once he reached his friend. Jasper just clasped his shoulder in greeting.

"It's okay," Jasper dismissed his apology. "Paul, the other producer, hasn't even arrived yet." Hand still on Edward's shoulder, he steered Edward inside the coffeehouse in front of them.

"So…what do you need me for?" Edward awkwardly asked as soon as he was settled in a chair. Jasper sat opposite him and pulled out a stack of paper from his own leather bag. He slid it across the table to his friend, who picked it up and flipped through it, mildly intrigued.

"This is the script for the movie that Paul and I are producing," Jasper informed him. "We want you to read through it and compose some music for this film. We're looking for jazz pieces. I know that you're basically an expert in that stuff, so I convinced Paul that we should give you a call." Edward looked up from the script and gave Jasper a small, crooked smile.

"Thanks, Jazz. This means a lot." Jasper merely shrugged.

"Eh, don't thank me yet. We still have to hear the songs before we make a decision," he warned. Edward gave a small chuckle at that.

"I'm going to get a drink," he said. Jasper nodded.

Edward stood from the chair and walked up to the counter. A burly man with russet skin stood behind the till, while his co-worker, a brown-haired woman, was rustling behind the counter, evidently eager to leave.

"Hi, can I get a small iced coffee, please?" he ordered, taking his eyes off the rushing brunette.

"That will be three dollars and fifty cents," the burly man said. Edward pulled a five out of his wallet and handed it to him. After handing back his change, the barista headed out of sight, most likely to the kitchen. Edward stood at the till, waiting for his coffee. Not even two minutes after, the barista came back and handed Edward his coffee. He wasn't sure if he was impressed or slightly disturbed by the efficiency.

He started to walk away, but turned back, for he had forgotten to tip the guy, but was nearly knocked over by a small figure. The coffee had been accidentally dumped all over the person in front of him, who he realized was the brunette. But as he got a closer look at her, he realized that the woman was also the incompetent driver from the highway. He was about to apologize, but he couldn't force himself to. Instead, he met her glare head on. He was amused by her attempts to look scary for she just took like a kitten trying to be a tiger.

She stared at him for a while, her chocolate brown eyes narrowed in vexation and she was about to open her mouth to say something, but her gaze was drawn to something behind him. Instead of yelling, like he expected, she simply brushed past him. He turned to watch her depart. For some strange reason…he was disappointed. But had no reason as to why he was disappointed. The woman annoyed the hell out of him already after two brief meetings. So why did he want to talk to her? Shaking off the feeling, Edward dropped his change into the tip jar and headed back to his seat, taking off his sunglasses as he sat down.

* * *

Clutching the handle of his leather briefcase, Edward all but ran into _Patina_ at six o'clock. The meeting with Paul and Jasper ran late enough that there was a chance for him to be late, plus he had to change into a dark navy suit (Caius's policy was that all staff, Edward included, wore black or a dark navy), but thankfully he arrived just in time. A man with slicked back blonde hair approached him as soon as he arrived. Caius.

"Edward," he greeted, sticking his hand out. Edward took it and they shook hands. "Thank you for coming."

"It's great to be back," Edward said. Caius stuck his arm out in the direction of the piano, motioning for Edward to head to the expensive grand piano in the middle of the crowded restaurant. Taking the lead, he headed towards the piano, staring at the acoustic almost reverently. He took a seat and pulled out the book of Christmas songs he had found earlier.

"Now, remember, Edward," Caius said, "no jazz music. I only want to hear Christmas music. If I even hear a hint of something that does not reek of the Christmas spirit, you're out and we find another replacement."

Throwing his bag under the piano stool, Edward hopefully said, "See, I thought that maybe we could compromise. You know, make a one for you, one for me, kind of deal." Caius just gave him an unamused look.

"How about two for you, and one for me?" Edward tried again but got the same response. "How about all for you, and none for me?" Finally, Caius relaxed and gave him a smile.

"Now, that is a deal I like," he replied as he left.

"What a fair deal," Edward muttered to himself, taking out his wallet and placing a five dollar bill into the glass tip bowl on top of the piano. He took a look at his surroundings as he loosened his body, stretching in his seat. The entire restaurant reeked of Christmas with the bright decorations and ornaments. Garlands and Christmas lights hung from the walls and any other surface they could wrap around. The light in the restaurant was dim, the only light source were the tea lights placed on every table. People weren't paying attention to him and were happily chattering away to their dinner partners.

Opening the book to "Deck the Halls," Edward began to play the bouncy tune with a forced smile stretched across his face. He was not looking forward to playing Christmas songs for two hours, but the thought of getting paid kept that smile on his face.

* * *

After playing "Jingle Bells" for the nth time, Edward was swiftly becoming tired of the straight forward Christmas songs. He wanted nothing more than to play jazz tunes, to improvise a melody. A nicely dressed woman came and dropped a bill into the glass jar. He gave her a short-lived appreciative smile as she walked away from him. Once playing the last chord of the song, Edward leaned back from the piano slightly. He peered around the room for a hint of Caius's blonde hair and found none.

 _'If Caius isn't around…he won't be able to hear, and he would never know….'_ he thought to himself. He made up his mind.

Looking around carefully for Caius once again, Edward carefully placed his hands back onto the piano keys. He closed his eyes and reflected back on his day. It wasn't a good day, but it wasn't the worst. It was a…mediocre day at least. He thought back to his mother and sister, and how they had nagged him earlier that day. He thought back to Jasper and Paul, and the hope they had brought him. With the opportunity they might give him, he would be able to not only earn cash but also be able to create music for movies – like Hoagy Carmichael. He also thought back to that woman – the one that somehow managed to intrigue and infuriate him through two brief meetings. There was something about her that piqued his curiosity.

With all of the thoughts and emotions filling him, he began to play. The melody flew out of him spontaneously. It started out simple, his right hand playing eighth notes and his left hand supporting, playing chords. But then it evolved. The left hand became more prominent in the melody, not a simple back-up anymore. The tempo increased, and Edward's slender fingers moved faster and faster, traveling through different octaves. Creating a story, a love story. A musical love story of two people who became equals but then spiraled out of control.

He was lost in his own story, the one he was unknowingly creating. After banging out the final chord and sustaining it, he opened his eyes and was surprised to find that he was standing up. His hair, which had been meticulously combed back into a neat hairstyle not even thirty minutes ago, was now everywhere. The bronze strands fell in front of his face and covered his eyes. He could feel a small amount of sweat roll down his neck, his chest was heaving.

"Edward," a cold voice stated from behind him. "Come with me." Silently cursing to himself, Edward turned to face the seething Caius. His angular features were cold. Nodding, he followed Caius aside.

"You're fired," Caius told him, point-blank. Edward shook his head, unable to believe it.

"Come on, Caius. It was just one song!" he begged. "You can't fire me over that."

"Yes, I can, and I will. You're fired," Caius stressed.

"No, I'm not," Edward denied. "You have to give me another chance."

"This was already your second chance," Caius spat. "You. Are. Fired."

Desperate, Edward whispered, "Come on, man. It's Christmas."

"I know it's Christmas. Don't you see the decorations littered throughout this establishment? But I don't care that it's Christmas. You're fired. We'll send the check to youn by mail. Good luck in the new year, Edward." Caius stalked away without a second glance. Edward fought the urge to hit something.

With clenched fists, he headed back to the piano to pick up his discarded belongings and the tips from the jar. Stewing in his anger, Edward stomped out, or was planning to, until someone got in his way.

It was the same infuriating woman who he seemed to be unable to shake off. She admittedly looked beautiful, in a flowing (and low-cut) blue dress. Her wide brown eyes met his with a gleam of admiration.

"Hey, I heard you play, and I just wanted to say-" she began to say, but he stormed past her. He was in no mood to deal with anyone at that moment, least of all her. All he wanted to do was go home and start to compose some demos for Jasper's movie.

But he couldn't stop feeling guilty at the hurt look on her face.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow…that took such a long time to write. I don't know why, but it was really hard for me to write this chapter. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it! You also might have noticed that I've changed some things, like dates, and I did that to make things a bit easier in terms of telling the story. I also changed the date in Bella's chapter and added a few little things, but not enough to warrant a re-read of the chapter. But I won't stop you if you want to ;)**

 **Thanks to: TWILIGHTFORLIFE1221, SunflowerFran, sue1zide, myworldisblue, camianbu88, Chiromom, Rebadams7, sparkledamnu, Miller18, Super Smash Sis Brawlers, MusetteBlanchard, sakari-x, debslmac, letmein123, kneon, midnitereader, and SanguineTaurean for reviewing/favouriting/following!**

 **Response to reviews:**

 **SunflowerFran:** The movie's actually pretty great. I had my reservations about it myself, but I highly recommend seeing it, especially if you like musicals or maybe even just music in general!

 **camianbu88:** Thank you so much!

 **Rebadams7:** Thank you!

 **sue1zide:** Aw, thanks! I wondered if that line would be too corny, but I decided to put it in anyways, ha. I'm glad you liked it!

 **debslmac:** I'm glad to hear it!

 **midnitereader:** Thanks! You're absolutely right; Bella's script might be easier for her to sell if she had a more personal connection to it…. We'll see what happens ;)

 **PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW, FAVOURITE, AND/OR FOLLOW! It helps me out a lot!**


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